


A Fresh Perspective

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam walks away from Dean to keep them both safe, but he doesn’t count on being picked up by somebody who has their own agenda and thinks that Sam could benefit from a different outlook on things - specifically, a feline one. Luckily, he’s picked up by Dean, who takes him in, but how does Sam let his brother know that the cat he’s found isn’t a cat but his brother?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder, keeping his face turned away from Dean as he walked over to the truck he'd noticed pull in earlier. If he looked over at Dean, if he had to see his face, he wouldn't be able to leave, and he had to do this. For both of them. If he wasn't safe to be around, then he wanted to get as far away from Dean as he could. He never wanted to hurt him like he had before, never wanted to see him bleeding on the ground at his feet and know that he'd been the one to put him there, not again. And if what War had said about him being Lucifer's vessel was true, then - But Sam wasn't about to let that happen. He might have freed the bastard, but that didn't mean he was going to let him walk around in his body. He'd let the first demon he saw tear him apart first.  
  
"Hey," he told the driver, forcing a smile. "You, uh, you think I could get a ride?"  
  
The driver, a heavyset man somewhere in his mid-fifties, studied him for a second, then nodded. "Sure, kid. Get in."  
  
Sam noticed that he didn't ask where he was heading, which was probably a good thing, since he had no clue. He rounded the hood and slid into the passenger seat, and sooner than he'd expected, they were driving away, pulling out of the lot and leaving Dean behind. But this wasn't like the last time he'd left Dean, when there had been angry words spoken that helped drive him away and the pain of separation had been dulled by the fact that he had something to look forward to, a destination and future that called to him. This was so much harder than that.  
  
This time he was leaving his heart behind, and unlike last time, it wasn't taking a week for the pain to catch up.  
  
By the time Sam managed to wrench his eyes away from the side-view mirror and the no-longer-visible rest stop, it was almost sunset. He had no idea how much ground they'd covered, but he got out of the truck and stretched when they pulled up in front of a Biggerson's. "Hope you don't mind diner food," the driver said.  
  
"It's fine," he responded automatically, trying not to remember Dean's ear-to-ear grin when they'd won free meals for a year. Sam reached for his door handle, but looked back when a hand landed on his arm.  
  
"Listen, whatever happened back there with you and your boyfriend -"  
  
Sam didn't give the guy a chance to finish, but yanked his arm away and spat, "He's my  _brother_ , and it's none of your business!"  
  
"Maybe not, but I know a thing or two about family," the guy persisted. "And it seems to me like you might benefit from a different perspective on things." His eyes twinkled with a disturbingly familiar light. "Trust me on this, Sam. If you keep your eyes and ears open, you just might learn a thing or two."  
  
Shit. He knew his name. Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the man snapped his fingers, and Sam's world dissolved in waves of unrelenting, wrenching pain. When darkness finally swept over him, he welcomed it and fell gratefully into nothingness.  
  
He woke up, still hurting all over and more pissed than he'd been in a long while. Leaves rustled around him as me moved, so he guessed he hadn't been out that long since a guy his size usually wasn't left laying in the bushes for long. One thing was for sure, though - he was going to shiv that Trickster's ass as hard as he could the next time he saw him. Right now, though, he wanted supper - the smells coming out of the diner were heavenly, a lot better than he ever remembered a Biggerson's smelling, and it was making his stomach growl with eager anticipation. Okay, then. Food first, revenge second.   
  
But something was wrong. He managed to get to his feet, but he was wobbly and off-balance, and the ground was way too close. His vision was messed up too - everything was in shades of gray. Sam opened his mouth to scream for the Trickster and demand that he put things right, but he didn't recognize the sound that came out. Not as anything human, at least. He'd heard it before, though, and his blood ran cold as he swiftly pieced the whole puzzle together.  
  
The Trickster hadn't been satisfied with just knocking him out and dumping him in the bushes somewhere. No, he'd had to go and change him into a cat first. No clothes, no cell phone, no hands, and worst of all, no Dean to help him. What the hell was he supposed to do now?


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Sam had decided that it must indeed be a dog's life, because it certainly wasn't a cat's. He'd been chased by several dogs, gone streaking right up a tree at one point and then had to spend half the night figuring out how to get down - so much for cats always landing on their feet with no effort! Added to all of that, he was hungry, tired, cold, and he thought he'd injured one of his paws, since it was starting to really hurt to put weight on it. Throw in a bedraggled appearance, and he wasn't about to inspire sympathy in any of the humans he might see, so he did his best to keep away from all of them. A trip to the pound was the very last thing he needed.  
  
What he  _did_  need was Dean, but he had no idea where he was or how to find out and go after him. They hadn't discussed travel plans, and with the way his brother drove, he was probably several states away and had no clue that Sam didn't have opposable thumbs anymore. When he didn't hear from Sam, he'd probably just assume he was sticking with the plan to keep away from each other. And it wasn't like he could go to Bobby's and get him to fix this, either - even if he managed to figure out where he was and how to get to Bobby's, there would be Rumsfeld to contend with. And if a golden retriever had chased him up a tree, Sam didn't even want to know what Rumsfeld would do to him. Eat him for breakfast, most likely.  
  
At least Lucifer couldn't come after him like this, Sam reminded himself. He'd have to either change him back, at which point Sam would tell him exactly where to stick it, or find another vessel, since his primary one was currently a cat. It wasn't much comfort, but at this point, Sam was willing to take whatever he could get, especially since food was proving distressingly hard to come by. He hadn't been this hungry since he'd left home the first time.  
  
He was seriously considering either going after one of those little sparrows that were hopping around the side of the road or seeing if he could get into the large dumpster a few feet away when he heard the familiar growl of the Impala. His ears pricked forward, and Sam whipped about to see a large black car barreling down the highway in his general direction. Without thinking, he ran towards it, heart leaping up into his throat. Dean! That was Dean! Somehow Dean had found out about what happened to him and he was going to take care of this and get him back to normal!  
  
He never saw the minivan that pulled out in the other direction.  
  
Something clipped his back legs and sent him somersaulting and then sprawling in the road. Sam tried to get up to go after the Impala, but he couldn't seem to stand - it hurt, pain blossoming along his back legs and streaking up his spine, turning his vision fuzzy as his head started to throb as well. He sank back down onto the asphalt and waited for the next car to come along and turn him into a pancake, because there was no way he was going to be able to get back to the side in time to avoid getting hit.  
  
When hands scooped him up, he tried feebly to scratch, and quickly found himself wrapped in a thick jacket that smelled... safe. He couldn't put a name to the mixture of scents that clung to the cloth, only knew that if home had a smell, this was it. Snuggling down into the fabric as best as his aching head would allow him to, Sam closed his eyes and hoped that he wouldn't wake up in a little metal cage at the pound. Or worse, not wake up at all.  
  
He opened his eyes to see white all around him, clean and sterile and unmistakably a hospital. Did that mean he'd been changed back somehow? He struggled to sit up and opened his mouth to call for someone when a nurse walked into the room, and the sight of the dogs and cats on her scrubs made Sam's heart sink. Most nurses he knew of didn't wear uniforms like that - not in human hospitals, anyway. His suspicions were confirmed when she smiled at him and cooed, "Hey, sweetie. Good to see you're awake," and reached out to rub the base of his ears.  
  
Sam twitched one ear and hissed at her and she held her hands up. "Okay, okay, guess you're still a little upset from your accident, huh? We're almost done, I promise." She picked up a needle and walked over to the table he was laying on, pinching a little bit of fur at the scruff of his neck and sliding it home before Sam really knew what had happened.   
  
Things started to go fuzzy again, but before they could go entirely black, he heard her say, "You know, the guy that brought you in is gonna be pretty glad to see you're all right." He slid back into sleep with thoughts of Dean and the smell of home.  
  
He woke up again when he heard voices approaching his room. "-had a pretty close call, but he should be okay. I'll take another look at him, and if things are going as well as they were the last time I checked, he should be all right to go home with you today."  
  
"I keep telling you, dude, he's not my cat." Sam's ears pricked up at the second voice. Dean! He was still there, so everything was - "Some lady hit him and I just picked him up so he wouldn't get flattened. I'll pay the bill, but you gotta find him another home."  
  
Not okay. Very much not okay. Dean didn't want him? He thought he was just another cat, some stray that had been hit? Sam's heart sank as he realized that all of his hopes were useless. It had just been luck that had Dean driving by, and his own stupidity must have gotten him hit. Dean was decent enough to pick him up, but he wasn't about to take him with him. They'd never been allowed to have animals; the cost of feeding them and time it took to care for them didn't exactly fit in with a hunter's lifestyle, especially the wandering kind of hunters they'd always been.  
  
Which meant he was stuck here until they called the pound, where he'd probably end up being put to sleep, seeing as he wasn't exactly a cute little kitten. Still, when the door to his room opened, Sam lifted his head to see a woman in a white coat walk in, followed closely by Dean. He fixed his eyes on his brother and mewed, trying his best to make it as forlorn and plaintive as possible. Dean's head snapped around to look at him and he mewed again, laying down and hoping he looked wounded and helpless.  
  
"Hey, it's okay," Dean said softly, reaching out slowly to rub two fingers over his head. "Easy there, big guy. Doc's gotta get you fixed up and we'll see what happens then, okay?"  
  
Sam wanted to nod, but Dean's fingers were finding a spot at the base of his ears that he hadn't known existed, rubbing over it just right until all he could do was close his eyes to little more than slits and - oh, fuck. He was  _purring_! Jesus, Dean was never going to let him live this down once he was human again. A life filled with cat toys in the glove box and catnip in his bag loomed ahead, but Sam thought it might well be worth it if Dean kept scratching his ears like that.  
  
He was vaguely aware of the doctor moving around, but anytime he tried to look over at him, Dean would say something and find a new spot along his jaw or under his chin, and Sam would melt all over again. His purrs were becoming a continuous background noise now, not even the faint pinch of something on one of his back legs interrupting them. Dean stopped petting him all too soon for Sam's enjoyment, and he let out a complaining mew as his brother got to his feet and turned to the doctor. "So what's the word?"  
  
"You can take him home today if you want. He'll need a little extra TLC for a week or two, but it shouldn't be long before he'll be back to normal." The doctor surveyed Dean, who reached down to rub behind one of Sam's ears again. "Still want me to find him another home?"  
  
Sam meowed again, tried to touch Dean's hand with one of his paws and dropped back down to the table with a cry of pain when his stitches pulled and protested the movement. Dean ran a hand along his side, as if needing to check for himself that he was still okay. "No, it's okay," he told the doctor. "Looks like he's pretty set on coming home with me."  
  
"It does at that," she commented with a smile. "Do you want a day or two to get everything ready?"  
  
"I'll take him with me today if you're sure it's okay."  
  
Two hours and another shot of sedatives that made the world a happy, fuzzy place later, Sam was put into a cat carrier and handed over to Dean, given to his brother for the second time in his life, even if said brother didn't know who he was.


	3. Chapter 3

The click of the door opening snapped Sam out of the lazy doze he'd slipped into a while ago. He felt his ears prick forward right before he jumped to his feet and went racing for the door. Dean was back, which meant petting and food and attention, and even if he was still trying to figure out how to make him see that he wasn't really a cat, he wasn't about to turn any of it down while it lasted. Dean grinned down at him as he brushed against his leg and went to set the bag he carried down on the table, then scratched behind his left ear when Sam jumped up beside the bag. "Looking good, dude. Keep it up and you'll be going out hunting with me in no time."  
  
He reached into the bag and pulled out a styrofoam carton that was giving off absolutely delicious smells. Sam butted his head up under his brother's hand and Dean laughed softly. "Yeah, I get it, you're starving." Flipping the box open, Dean started breaking the burger inside into pieces that he held out to Sam, who wolfed them down. "You know, you really shouldn't get too used to this treatment," Dean warned him, just like he had every single day for the last three weeks. "It's just 'til you're back on your feet; you're on your own then."  
  
Sam ignored him the same way he always did when Dean threatened to make him start hunting mice or birds for food. It was just Dean trying to sound tough, not wanting to risk being seen as soft for taking care of him. But no matter how many times he threatened to turn him loose to fend for himself, Sam hadn't gone hungry since Dean brought him home from the vet clinic, wrapped in the same wonderful-smelling jacket that he vaguely remembered being there after the car hit him. And now he was starting to realize why people envied their pets - instead of doing research in libraries or cutting open corpses in morgues, he spent his days lounging in the passenger seat of the Impala or the window of whatever motel Dean decided to pull into, soaking up the sunshine and dozing. Instead of digging up graves or fighting supernatural horrors, Sam's nights consisted of curling up around Dean's feet - or, when Dean was sleeping hard enough that he thought he could get away with it, on his chest.   
  
It hadn't taken him long to discover that the smell that had made him feel so safe, the smell that was so good he wanted to just fucking  _roll_  in it came from one source: Dean. His brother smelled like food and leather and gun oil and a hundred other scents that added up to home for Sam, and once he was able to walk without pain, he'd started stalking him for it. At first it had been subconscious, just a desire to get more of that wonderful smell, but when the pain had eased enough for him to think clearly and realize that it was coming from Dean, it had become deliberate, a need to get closer to the one person left that might actually someday figure out what had happened to him.  
  
Then it became play, a carefree sort of game that made Sam remember all the good things about growing up with Dean. He was always willing to join in the fun, for one thing, and once he'd figured out that Sam was stalking him, he'd started hiding socks and shirts (and once, even a pair of his underwear) around the room and waiting to see how long it took Sam to find it. All under the guise of teaching him to hunt so he wouldn't starve when Dean kicked him out, of course, but training had nothing to do with the proud grins or scratches he received once he dragged his prize out for Dean to inspect.  
  
"You know," Dean mused, "It kinda sucks that you're not a dog. I'm not complaining or anything, but it might be pretty cool to have a dog around, you know? He could sniff things out, attack ghosts and shit and - ow!" He jerked his hand back, examining the two fingers that Sam had bitten. When he was satisfied that no real damage had been done, he turned a stern look on him. "Not cool, dude."  
  
Sam stared back at him, tail idly swishing around his feet. The tail was something he was still getting used to - it seemed to have a mind of his own, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to keep it from giving him away when he was upset. Dean must've understood the movement, because he rubbed his hand and offered him another piece of hamburger. "Okay, so I might've deserved that. Anyway, I get the message; no wishing you were a dog." He thought for a few seconds, then added, "You're a lot easier to sneak into a motel than a dog. And at least I don't have to take you for walks."  
  
Just the mention of going out was enough to make Sam grateful that cats couldn't blush, although he certainly felt hot with shame at the memory of those first few days when Dean hadn't seemed to realize that he needed a place for that. He'd managed to make it to the bathroom before he lost control, and while Dean had taken his accident better than most people would've, the memory of the open disgust on his face when he'd seen Sam sitting in a puddle on the floor was still enough to turn his stomach. Plus, cat piss stunk to high heaven, and with his heightened senses, he sometimes felt like he was going to be smelling it on his paws forever, even  _after_  the four baths Dean had given him before he'd allowed him back in the Impala.  
  
There had been other stumbling blocks as well: the discovery that kung pao chicken was apparently not meant for a cat's digestion, which had resulted in his being sick all over Dean's favorite pair of jeans, the almost uncontrollable urge to lick himself clean even when he knew very well exactly where his paws had been, the fact that he couldn't seem to stay awake for more than twenty minutes at a stretch unless it was the middle of the night, and the strange fascination wires and all other electronic devices had, whether he was laying on top of the TV or fighting the urge to chew on the laptop cord. And then there was the shedding that left every piece of clothing Dean owned covered with a fine layer of ginger hair.   
  
Pet ownership was clearly more of a challenge than either of them had realized, and Sam could see now why Dad had never let him keep any of the strays he'd dragged home with him. A hunter's life just didn't really have room in it for a pet. Still, to his credit, Dean was trying.  
  
When he got dinner, he always remembered to pick something up for Sam, and more often than not, he ate in the room with him. He seemed to know just where the itchy spots at the base of his ears were, and he didn't mind petting or scratching him as long as Sam wanted, which was a surprise, since he'd have said there was no way Dean would do anything that didn't involve naked women, weapons, or food for longer than five minutes at a stretch. Yet he'd spent twenty minutes petting Sam the other night while he watched Dr Sexy and muttered under his breath about plotlines and writers who'd been phoning it in for the last two years.  
  
Sam had never realized Dean watched Dr Sexy. He wondered what else he didn't know about his brother.  
  
He learned a little more one night when Dean came back later than usual and dropped heavily onto the edge of the bed. His eyes were overbright with alcohol, and when Sam leapt up onto his thigh, he could smell tequila and something else, something overly sweet and sticky, that made his nose feel funny. He reared up and planted his paws on Dean's chest, leaning in close to sniff him, then sneezed when the unfamiliar scent tickled him in the wrong way.  
  
Dean chuckled and rubbed at the base of his ears. "Sorry, dude. Guess perfume's not your thing, huh?"  
  
Perfume. He'd been with a girl, then; that was why he was so late. Some anonymous girl in a bar, just like all the others, except that this time Sam could  _smell_  her on him, musky and rich under the too-sweet perfume, her scent mingling with Dean's, seeping into his skin to change the  _home_  smell to something else. Sam tried to tamp down on the sudden flare of anger and possessiveness, telling himself it was unreasonable to expect Dean not to go tomcatting around, but he couldn't quite hide his disdain as he hopped down from his leg and stalked stiffly over to the door, his tail held high.   
  
"Don't have to get your panties in a knot over it, Princess," Dean grumbled as he got up to let him out.  
  
Sam ignored him and sauntered outside, away from the sticky-sweet stench of the girl's perfume. He briefly considered trying to squeeze through the partially open window so he could sleep in the front seat of the Impala, but it was getting cooler as fall set in, and while his fur was warmer than his jackets, he still didn't exactly love the idea of spending the night out in the cold. It was too much like those first few days as a cat when he'd had nowhere to go and nobody to help him for his comfort. The memory of that time and the chill of the night sent him hurrying back to the room soon enough, but it took a good ten minutes before Dean came to let him in when he scratched at the door.  
  
He'd changed into a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt, and when Sam wound around his ankles and Dean stooped down to pick him up, Sam could smell soap and the sharp scent of Dean's deodorant, fresh and clean and all his. Dean had showered, washed the smell of the woman away, and Sam couldn't have been happier. He butted his head up under Dean's chin, purring softly.  
  
Dean chuckled and scratched under his chin. "I didn't like the perfume, either," he confessed, shifting him into a more comfortable position as he kicked the door closed and walked back to the bed. He deposited Sam on the spot beside his pillow that he'd claimed as his, then made himself comfortable, tucking an extra pillow behind his back, but instead of reaching for the remote the way he usually did, he scooped Sam up and stroked the top of his head with one finger.  
  
"You're lucky, you know that?" he said quietly. "You don't have to worry about angels or the apocalypse or any of that shit; you just care about where your next hamburger's coming from."  
  
It wasn't true, but Sam didn't try to object, just mewed and nudged Dean's hand with his head when it looked like he might be about to stop petting him. Dean chuckled and scratched the base of one ear. "You got it good, man. Not like me." He was quiet for a few minutes before he said, "You know where I was tonight? I took an angel to this place I know of, thought I'd let him live a little while we're both still alive." He sighed. "Trouble was, when he took one of the girls into the back rooms, he tried to fix her daddy issues."  
  
Dean had taken Castiel to a brothel?!? Sam wondered if he'd gone insane at some point, or if he just couldn't understand anything male that didn't want sex 24/7. "After we got thrown out he wanted to talk to me about my brother," Dean told him, and the mention of himself pricked Sam's ears up. "Bet you didn't know I had a brother, didja? He's younger than me and a hell of a lot smarter - of course, I've never told him that. His head might get even bigger than it is."  
  
He chuckled softly, fingers slipping down under his chin to find the sweet spot that always made Sam close his eyes and purr. "You'd like him, y'know. Sammy's always attracted everybody - animals, kids, people, they all like him and want to be around him." Dean's voice dipped low and there was no hiding the sorrow in his tone. "Me, too. Used to be we did everything together but now he's - well, I don't really know where he is. There was this big thing about destiny and him not being safe and -"  
  
Dean cut himself off and Sam heard him swallow. He forced his eyes open and looked up to see his brother's face set in deep, grave lines. "He said he couldn't be around me. And now Cas wants to talk about it and get all touchy-feely and shit." He huffed, clearly put out with the idea. "I told him I'm doing great and enjoying being on my own so he'd get off my back and leave me alone." But it didn't take a lifetime of living with Dean to see that he wasn't doing great, not at all.   
  
If he'd been human, Sam probably would've agreed with Dean that he was fine, then ordered something extra greasy for supper and pretended to argue with him about what they were going to watch before he gave in and let Dean have the remote. As it was, he could only butt his head against Dean's hand and mewl softly, but it seemed to help a little bit, because his brother smiled and scratched behind one ear. "Least you're not going anywhere on me, right?"  
  
Sam wanted to tell him that he hadn't wanted to leave the first time, that he'd only done it because he couldn't stand the idea of turning into the monster he'd become under the influence of the demon blood, that he'd had to leave to keep Dean safe, but he knew Dean wouldn't have believed it even if he'd been able to lay it all out for him. He could tell by the way he talked about it that he thought Sam had wanted out, just like when he was younger, that he didn't understand the need that itched at his skin and how terrified he was of giving in to it again.  
  
But with the Trickster's spell keeping him mute and furry, he was reduced to nudging Dean's hand with his head and purring instead. Dean smiled and stroked him, and it wasn't until some time later, when Dean had fallen asleep, dropping off quicker than he had since he'd gone to Hell, that Sam wondered if maybe he'd just needed a little affection.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was gone. It wasn't like when he left to get food or work on a hunt, though. This was different, although Sam didn't know how he knew that. He just... felt it. Like something necessary was missing from the world, and all that remained was the hole inside. It felt like it had been there forever, although logically he knew it couldn't have been long.  
  
He'd gone to bed curled up next to Dean, dozing off warm and content, and woken up to find no Dean or even any trace of Dean. The sheets were cold and his scent was stale, but his jacket was still slung over the chair and his keys lay on the table, so he hadn't gone anywhere. Except that when Sam went looking for him, he couldn't find him anywhere in the room. No Dean in the bathroom, singing along to whatever song happened to be running through his head. No Dean outside, tinkering with the Impala by the warm light of the hood lamp, tuning and tightening his baby to help him sleep. No Dean slumped in a chair in front of the TV, staring mindlessly at the screen. No Dean anywhere.  
  
Sam found himself trapped in the empty motel room, able to do nothing besides pace back and forth and curse the Trickster and whoever had decided that cats didn't need opposable thumbs. It was worse than when Dad and Dean used to go on hunts and leave him alone back before he was old enough to go, worse than the endless waiting that had accompanied Dean's solo hunts since he'd picked up Sam as a cat. This was more like the years that he'd spent at Stanford, with no word at all to tell him whether Dean was alive or dead, only the faint hope that he would've been called if something happened remaining, along with the sickening dread that he'd never know, that his brother would simply have vanished from the face of the earth.  
  
It certainly seemed like he'd done that now.  
  
There was no way to tell how much time had passed, how long he'd been walking an endless circuit of the room when a bright light appeared out of nowhere. It burned his eyes, leaving a searing afterimage behind on his lids as he darted beneath the bed and slammed his eyes closed. He thought he'd be seeing it until the day he died, the image of the figure with its flaming sword, huge outstretched wings, and -  
  
Wait. Wings! Was that what angels really looked like? Could he somehow see it because he wasn't looking with human eyes anymore?  
  
Sam peeked out from under the bed, squinting against the glare of the light that emanated from the angel as it advanced on -   
  
Dean! Dean was back! He fought the urge to go running to him, stayed hunkered down on the floor where he wouldn't draw the angel's attention, but then the angel said something, its voice cracking like thunder in the small room, and Dean spat back at it. Sam couldn't understand what he was saying over the roar of the angel's reply, but there was no misunderstanding the angry glare or the defiant jut of Dean's chin. Whatever the angel wanted, Dean didn't want to give it to him.  
  
The light flared brighter as the angel took another step towards Dean and Sam couldn't stay hidden any longer. He lunged out at the angel, claws extended. Pain shot through him as he made contact, an electrical shock that felt like he'd just stuck his claws in a light socket, but he pushed through it, raking across the golden light until he was torn away from it with a wrenching thrust.  
  
Sam was only distantly aware of flying through the air until he hit the wall with a thump and dropped to the floor like a stone. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear Dean's voice as he yelled at the angel and then hands were there, smoothing over him gently and Dean filled his field of vision, slightly blurry but still visibly concerned. Sam mewed at him to let him know he was okay, then snuggled up against him as he was scooped up and held close while Dean turned to confront the angel.  
  
The angel was moving towards them, light sparking off the walls, bright enough to make Sam's eyes hurt. He closed them to little more than slits, flexing his paws against Dean's arm although he didn't retract his claws. He was going to need them out, although he knew he really didn't have a prayer of defending either of them if the angel decided to obliterate them.  
  
There was a sudden wrenching sensation, like someone was trying to pull his insides out through his bellybutton, and Sam instinctively tried to get away from it, only to be brought up short by Dean, who pulled him down from his shoulder with a pained grunt. "Hey, take it easy, dude! It's Cas, okay? It's just Cas."   
  
Sam stopped trying to climb inside his jacket as the words started to penetrate the terror that had swept over him. "It's Cas," Dean repeated, and when he looked over at the figure standing there watching them, Sam could see the difference between Castiel and that other angel. He wasn't as bright, for one thing; where the other angel had blazed with fire and lightning, Castiel gave off more of a welcoming glow, like a fire in the hearth on a cold night. It was oddly comforting, and when the angel spoke, there was a low rumble that was still thunderous, but more like a far-off storm than the harsh crack of the other's voice.  
  
Dean reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Don't ever change." He stroked over Sam's head, and Sam shrank back against his brother's chest when the angel looked at him and he thought he saw him cock his head, like he was studying him and trying to figure out what he was. He wondered if Castiel knew it was him, if he could change him back, or if he just saw a cat, the same way Dean and everyone else did. The angel said something, never taking his eyes off Sam, and he felt Dean shrug. "Yeah, so?"  
  
More deep rolling sounds, the thrum of Castiel's voice pleasant and soothing, almost like Dean's hand stroking over his fur just before he drifted off to sleep. Without fully realizing it, Sam started to purr, echoing the pleasant growl as best he could. "See?" he heard Dean say. "He's all right. You probably just freaked him the fuck out - it's his first time traveling by Angel Air."  
  
Castiel said something else, the words lost amid the deep tone of his voice, but Sam found he wasn't too worried about it anyway. He didn't know it if the angel was doing something to him or if he just couldn't be bothered to care with Dean's hand scratching the base of his ear like that, and he doubted it really mattered. He did prick his ears forward when he heard Dean say, "Something I should've done in the first place."  
  
Sam found out what that something was once Castiel left and Dean settled both of them in the Impala. His brother pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, studied the display for a minute, then took a deep breath and pressed a button. Faint ringing tones drifted out of the handset before a voice followed, and it took Sam a second to realize that it was  _his_  voice coming out of the phone, His human voice - Dean was calling him!   
  
"Hey, man, it's me," Dean was saying. "Listen, I know what we said, but I - I need to talk to you, okay? Give me a call when you get this, anytime. You know the number."  
  
He hung up and looked over at Sam. "You were pretty awesome back there, little dude. But next time, you let me worry about the angels, and you can focus on mice and whatever." But Sam could tell from the smile playing around Dean's mouth that he was more than a little impressed by Sam's attempt to help him. "So how does a whole can of tuna sound?"  
  
Not nearly as good as moo shu pork and eggrolls, but after what happened with the chicken, Sam doubted he'd get to have Chinese until he was human again. But now that Dean was trying to reach him, that shouldn't be much longer. After all, when he didn't answer, Dean would go looking for him, and then he'd figure out something had happened...  
  
Curling up in a ball on the seat, Sam drifted off into a contented doze, his head filling with images of Chinese food and hunting alongside Dean again.


	5. Chapter 5

"It's Sam. Leave me a message."   
  
Voicemail. Again. Dean didn't bother to leave a message, just hung up and tossed his phone on the table. "Sorry," he muttered when green eyes opened to stare at him. He wandered over to scratch behind an ear and was rewarded with a purr that slowly tapered off as Dude went back to sleep.   
  
Ordinarily the sound would've meant that everything was okay, but things weren't okay and hadn't been for a week now. He'd been calling Sam at least two times a day ever since he'd gotten back from that nightmare timeline and getting voicemail every time. So either Sam had decided he didn't want to talk to him, no matter what or -  
  
No. No way. Dean refused to even consider any other options. He didn't want to think about something happening to Sam, or worse, about Sam giving in and saying yes. He had to believe that it wasn't too late to stop it, that they could still make a difference, get back on track and keep that future from every happening. They could beat the devil, he knew they could. They were stronger together; they just needed to sit down and talk to find that strength.  
  
But first, Sam had to actually  _answer_  his fucking phone!  
  
Dean sighed and picked the phone up again. This time, Dude raised his head and watched as he brought Sam's name up on the contacts list and hit Dial.  
  
"It's Sam. Leave me a message."  
  
"Hey, Sam, it's me. I, uh, I don't know what's going on, why you're not answering your phone, but I really need to talk to you. This is important and I -" He sighed. "Listen, just call me, okay? Let me know you're alive, at least. Then if you still want me to fuck off, I won't bother you anymore."  
  
He hung up and set the phone down, then looked at the cat that was staring at him with an intensity that was almost inhuman. "Stop that," he told him. "It's creepy, man."  
  
No response, save the idle twitch of a tail. Dean wondered if the fact that he'd half-expected one meant he was losing his marbles or if he'd already gone around the bend. Too much time alone with only a cat to talk to - wasn't that supposed to be bad for your sanity or something? Bad enough he actually talked to the cat like he could understand, but thinking he'd answer? Yeah, that was too far, and he was seriously starting to think he might be losing his grip on reality, here.   
  
Fuck this. He needed to get drunk. Really drunk.  
  
"Don't wait up," he told Dude as he grabbed his jacket and keys and started for the door. He had his hand on the knob when he turned back around to get his cell phone, then changed his mind and left it on the table. Let Sam deal with  _his_  fucking voicemail for a change.  
  
Dean made it halfway to the car before he turned around to get the phone, telling himself that he needed it in case Cas called. Dude blinked at him when he stalked back into the room and he glared at him in return. "Shut up," he snapped as he snatched the phone up and shoved it in his pack.  
  
Somehow, slamming out of the room was a lot less satisfying the second time around.


	6. Chapter 6

The loud bang of the motel door woke him out of his light doze. Sam raised his head to see Dean staggering inside. and he didn't need his feline sense of smell to tell him that his brother was drunk. Not just a little drunk, either - this was three sheets to the wind, barely able to  _walk_  drunk. It was the kind of drunk Dad had gotten every November 2nd, the kind of drunk he'd gotten the day Jessica was buried, and the kind of drunk he'd only known Dean to be once before - the night he left for Stanford.  
  
He still remembered that night, although he wasn't sure Dean did. After his fight with Dad, Sam had stalked out of the house, his bag in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. Dad's words had still been ringing in his ears ( _You walk out that door, you don't ever come back, you hear me, boy?_ ) and he'd been all set to make his own way in the world, but then Dean had come after him. He'd pleaded with Sam to stay, his breath heavy and sour with whiskey, eyes fever bright and glittering as he begged him to "just wait, man. Give it some time, lemme talk to him, okay? We can work it out, Sammy, I know we can."  
  
Of course, Sam had pushed him away, ignored his pleas and left for college, where occasional phone calls and two visits had eventually turned into total estrangement. He'd sometimes wondered what might've happened if he'd looked past his own anger and hurt feelings to his brother's pain, if he'd given him that chance to either smooth things out or maybe even go with him. Maybe those first two years wouldn't have been so lonely, maybe he'd have been able to tell Jess about his past or at least warn Dean when the dreams started waking him up in a cold sweat. Maybe the last five years could've been very different, but he'd never know. He remembered learning about alternate realities in his Intro to Physics class and taking a little comfort in the knowledge that somewhere out there, there was probably a Sam that had listened to Dean, a Sam that had his big brother there to help him figure out how to stand on his own. He'd hoped that Sam was happier than he was, and he hoped now that he wasn't an ex-junkie that had been turned into a cat by a prankster god.  
  
He was absolutely sure  _that_  Sam wasn't having to watch a thoroughly shitfaced Dean stumbling into the bathroom to get sick. Sam winced as the sound of retching drifted out into the motel room. It seemed to go on forever, a never-ending round of vomiting that made Sam's stomach roil just listening to it, but eventually he heard the toilet flush and the sink start up. He stood up and stretched, then hopped down from the table and walked over to twine around Dean's ankles as he emerged, looking paler and sweatier than when he'd gone in. The sour stench of sickness and whiskey still clung to him, but Sam forced himself not to squirm free when Dean stooped down to pick him up, cradling him in his arms.  
  
"Sorry, little dude," he muttered. "You're probably thinking that life on the streets was better than hanging out with a bum like me, huh?"  
  
Nowhere near as bad. Sam purred and nuzzled against Dean's chest, pleased when he scratched the base of one ear as he settled down on the bed and eased Sam down to the mattress beside him. He wasn't ordinarily one for big shows, but when one hand urged him onto his side, he rolled over only to have his eyes nearly roll up into his head as Dean started rubbing his stomach. Jesus, how come belly rubs couldn't feel this good as a human?!?  
  
Sam writhed a little, trying to get Dean's fingers to hit just the right place before he completely submitted to absolute ecstasy. He could hear Dean's voice saying something, but the words were lost in Sam's purr until he heard his own name. It took a second or two before he could hear Dean over the rumbling in his throat, bliss warring with curiosity until finally he managed to calm down enough to pay attention to his brother's voice. "- don't know what I'm gonna do if he never calls me back. I mean, I know we said we were best apart, but we were wrong."  
  
He wanted to ask how Dean knew that for certain, except that he was pretty sure that getting turned into a cat less than 24 hours after he parted from his brother would only play into that argument. "You shoulda seen it, man. Zack's a dick, but if the future he sent me to was even close to what's coming, then it sucks major donkey balls. The place was a war zone, Croatoan out in the open, but that wasn't the worst. I was a total asshole, torturing demons and shooting people in the head and Sam -"  
  
Dean choked up and for a second, Sam thought he wasn't going to continue. He almost hoped he wouldn't, actually, since he was pretty sure he didn't want to know what happened to him in a world that saw Dean so totally changed, but after just a minute, Dean said softly, "Sam said yes." He kept talking, and there was nothing Sam could do but listen as his brother spun a tale of absolute horror, a post-apocalyptic world where Dean had become the general of a tiny handful of people fighting against the inevitable end while Sam and his demons hunted them down relentlessly. Dean talked about Castiel, a drug-addicted, bitter Cas that had fallen from grace and hated it, about the desperation of the life he'd seen the resistance fighters leading, and most of all, about Lucifer. "I saw him, and it was - oh, God, it was awful, man. The devil was standing there wearing my baby brother like that freaking cheap white suit, pretending he cared about the world when it was really all about him and his stupid petty-ass self-esteem issues. He didn't know Sam, and he didn't care about what he was doing with his body. He didn't love him... not like me."  
  
If he could've, Sam would've pointed out that nobody loved him like Dean did. It was a fact of life and had been for as long as he could remember: the sun rose in the East, the Impala was home, and Dean loved him. He'd had to lose almost everything to realize that he loved Dean back every bit as much. Nudging Dean's hand with his head, he mewed a demand for more petting, hoping that the contact might keep his brother grounded, because from the look on his face, he was about three seconds away from really losing it.  
  
Instead of petting him, though, Dean scooped him up and held him close. "You love me, don'tcha, little dude? You don't care that I'm - that I - Jesus, I can't even say it." The laugh that tore out of him was choked and dark and ugly. "They knew in Hell, though. Fuck, they made sure they reminded me of it every single fucking day." He rubbed his cheek over the top of Sam's head. "Used to come by and laugh at me because they knew I belonged there. And then Cas - but I'm not righteous, man. Far from it."  
  
Another of those terrible, half-wild laughs spilled out. "Righteous men don't want to fuck their brothers," Dean confided in a soft voice. Then, while Sam was still trying to process what he'd just said, he added, "And they sure as hell don't fall in love with them."  
  
Sam twisted away from Dean, staring at him in shock. He wanted to demand to know what was going on, how long Dean had been in love with him, why he hadn't freaking  _told him_  this when he didn't have fur and a tail, but all he could do was mew at him and get a snore in response. Great. Dean had passed out and was now sleeping as deeply as only an innocent or a drunk could.  
  
Sam, on the other hand, wasn't sure he'd ever be able to sleep again.


	7. Chapter 7

Four and a half hours later, he was sure of it.  
  
While Dean sprawled out on the bed and snored loud enough to rattle the windows, totally ignorant of the fact that he'd just confessed his love and lust for his brother to that same brother, Sam did his best to lay as still as possible, as though he feared moving so much as a whisker might wake Dean for more confessions he wasn't ready for. Of course, they'd have to be pretty big to beat those last two - something along the lines of Dean having rainbow-colored wings tucked away somewhere or actually  _being_  Batman instead of just wanting to be. Anything else just wouldn't measure up.  
  
He wondered when that had happened, how long Dean had thought about fucking him and when he'd fallen in love with him. Two years, at least, since he said the demons in Hell had taunted him about it. He wondered why he'd never seen it before, if Dean was actually a lot better at hiding than Sam had thought he was, or if Sam was just too thick to notice something that was obvious to everyone else with eyes. Did the angels know? Stupid question, of course they did. They could read minds, after all. Did Bobby? Did Ellen? What about Dad? Had he figured it out? Sam hoped he hadn't; he hated to think of what he'd have said about it. Of course, that might be why Dean thought he was so sick, if Dad had ever found out...  
  
It was confusing, a dizzying spiral that pulled him farther down into his own thoughts until he wasn't sure which way was up. He had no idea how long it might have continued if Castiel hadn't suddenly appeared. And if he'd thought it was unnerving when the angel popped up out of nowhere when he was human, it was nothing compared to how it felt as a cat. Sam's fur stood on end with a hard shiver that shook him to the very center of his being, while his eyes closed to little more than a slit to try to block out the light that seemed to fill every last corner of the room.  
  
The glowing golden figure moved towards the bed, one hand reaching out towards Dean, tracing a sigil in the air above him before it turned its head to look at him. Instantly, Sam stopped breathing, laying as still as he could, trying not to draw the angel's notice any more than he apparently already had.  _Breathe, Sam_ , a voice murmured in his head, a rich, amused tone that didn't sound like the Castiel he'd become accustomed to. Was that what his real voice sounded like? Was this the voice that had shattered windows and made Dean's ears bleed? It was hard to fathom this voice doing anything except comforting and drawing anyone who heard it near for more.  _I have no intention of harming you_.  
  
He might not hurt him, but if he knew who he was, then he could certainly tell Dean just who the stray he'd picked up was. And that would be even worse, especially after the things Dean had told him tonight.  _I will not betray you, either_ , the angel assured him, and Sam realized that he had to be reading his mind.  
  
 _Can you change me back?_  he thought as hard as he could, even as a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered that he wasn't so sure he wanted to be human again. Human meant running from Lucifer, fighting for his life at any moment. Human meant a near-constant vigilance to guard against demons, monsters, and his own addiction. Human meant pain, heartbreak, fear, and sickness.   
  
But it also meant Dean. And food that didn't come out of a can, hot showers, full color vision, TV, not to mention beer and chocolate (Dean had thrown out anything even resembling sweets once he learned that chocolate could be deadly for dogs). Most of all, though, it meant he'd get to talk to Dean about the things he'd told him, maybe even see if some of the fantasies Sam had never admitted to having back when he was fifteen weren't completely out of the realm of possibility, after all.  
  
With that in mind, he stared at Castiel and thought again,  _Change me back. Please_.  
  
 _I do not possess the power_ , that voice told him, and he found that hard to believe. He could see Castiel now, how he blazed with light, could feel the power that thrummed in his voice, so how could something like this be beyond him?  _Whatever changed you is more than a mere Trickster, and only it can undo this_.  
  
Great. So it wasn't a Trickster they'd run up against all those times - it was the  _king_  Trickster. Which meant they'd have to hunt the damn thing down, and Sam remembered quite vividly exactly how not easy that had been. All so they could hope he'd had enough of watching him be a cat and felt like changing him back. Of course, all of that was only if Dean figured out that it had been the Trickster that did this in the first place; it wasn't like Sam could just write it down. He'd always sucked at charades, so acting it out wasn't really an option, either. So that left luck and a hope that his brother could somehow manage to read his mind.  
  
Not a lot on his side. Especially when he realized that he had to let Dean know what had happened to him. He briefly considered asking Castiel to do it for him, but that felt uncomfortably like shirking his job, and if there was one thing Winchesters didn't do, it was ask someone else to do their work for them. No, he'd just have to figure it out on his own - that, or resign himself to a long, furry life.  
  
He was about to ask Castiel if he knew of any ways to track the Trickster, but before he could form the thought, a loud roar assaulted his ears, like a whole flock of birds had been released in the room, and it wasn't until Castiel disappeared that Sam realized that it must have been the angel's wings he'd heard. He wondered what they looked like, if they bore any resemblance to the ones angels had in paintings or if they were something else entirely, something not able to really be seen with either human or feline eyes.  
  
 _Thank you_ , he thought, just in the case the angel was still somewhere around. He had the brief impression of warmth and light, and this time, when he curled up next to Dean to sleep, he dropped off into a deep, contented sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

He woke up the next day determined to make Dean see that something was wrong. No more acting like a cat - Sam was going to show him just how human he could be.  
  
He started with trying to write. While Dean was in the shower, Sam knocked his coffee over and watched the dark pool spread out over the tabletop with satisfaction. He reached out to get a paw good and wet, but when he looked for something to write on, the newspaper Dean had spread out the night before was a soggy mess, along with several other papers. Okay, so no paper. The table itself, maybe? He tried tracing letters, but they didn't look right, and he didn't get much practice at it before Dean came out of the shower and immediately started yelling about the mess he'd made.  
  
After he'd been given two more baths (and those were  _really_  starting to suck, what with the way they made him fur cling to him for hours after every one, like wearing wet jeans without being able to change out of them), he was shut up in the bathroom while Dean cleaned up the table and tried to salvage what he could of his research. Sam used the time to think of new ways to get through to his brother, things that might make him look twice at the whole situation. He came up with a few, but Dean didn't give him much of a chance to put anything in practice right away; the next few days were spent under Dean's careful watch, shut up in the bathroom, or locked out of the room entirely.   
  
Still, he managed to try a couple of things. Unfortunately, neither batting at the journal repeatedly or dragging his own Taurus out of the weapons bag did more than make Dean shove him away and give him a scolding, and the rather alarming shade of white Dean turned when he saw Sam rubbing his cheek over the muzzle of the gun was enough to make him decide that using the weapons wasn't a good way to get anything through. He curled up in Dean's lap and purred all the way through a mini-marathon of Dr Sexy that night to make up for it, then spent the next several days trying to come up with something else.  
  
There had to be something, some magic bullet that he'd overlooked, something that would make Dean realize that he was  _Sam_ , not just a stray - wait a second! That was it! He'd been trying to show Dean he was _human_ , not who he really was! He needed to hit on things that only he knew, use things that would mean more to Dean than just some cat getting into things.  
  
He wished Dean hadn't given the amulet to Castiel. It might be the key that would lead them to God, but it also would've been his best chance to get through to Dean. But even without the amulet, Sam was confident in his ability to make Dean see him - he just needed the right combination. He started hitting the sensitive, ticklish spot on Dean's thigh when he settled into his lap, the one that had helped him win more than one wrestling match when they were kids, but Dean just hissed and shifted him over to the other leg or picked him up. He tried pounding on the phone when he heard Bobby's ringtone, but he hadn't really expected that to work, so he wasn't all that disappointed when Dean just pulled it away from him and answered it. He thought he was close when he noticed Dean putting his suit on - Sam ran to get his FBI tie and bring it to him, and for a second, Dean stopped and stared at him, and Sam thought he was about to get it, but he just commented, "Smart cat," and took it from him.  
  
Sam wanted to ask why his brother couldn't be equally as smart..   
  
Nothing seemed to be working. Sam was seriously considering making a break for it one day, slipping away one night when Dean let him out and just not coming back until he'd found the Trickster and was human again, when his lucky break finally came. Somewhere outside Pasco, Dean decided to do more than just the usual emergency load of laundry; for reasons known only to him, he dragged every last piece of clothing he owned out of his bag and sorted them into piles that seemed a little different than the time-honored Winchester method of 'dirty', 'really dirty', and 'Jesus Christ, that's filthy'. It wasn't until he saw a familiar blue-checked shirt, along with a white dress shirt that was clearly too big for Dean that he got it. Those were  _his_ clothes in that pile, things that must've been tucked away in Dean's duffel when he'd left. Sam wondered if he was planning on washing them or just getting rid of them.  
  
He didn't wait to find out. When Dean tossed his favorite old hoodie on top of the pile, Sam made his move. He leapt up onto it and started squirming around, nipping and clawing at the fabric in an attempt to wrap it around him, as though succeeding might somehow make Dean see the human instead of the cat. At the very least, maybe it would make him pause and wonder what he was doing.  
  
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing with that?" Dean yelled, hurrying over to try to pull him free. Sam twisted in his grip, snagging the cloth on his claws, and when Dean tried to snatch it away, he heard a loud rip. Instantly, Dean scooped him up, shirt and all, and carried him over to the bed, but when he set them down and started untangling the shirt from his paws, his focus wasn't on Sam.  
  
Instead, it was on the ripped shirt, the one that had a huge gash down the back that meant it would never be wearable again. "Jesus," he whispered, turning it one way and then another to examine it. "Oh, man, Sammy..."  
  
Great, now he'd hurt him. Trying to reassure him, Sam mewed up at him, but that only drew his attention. It was a mistake he realized too late as he watched his brother face shift from sorrow to anger. "You ruined it, you stupid cat!" he spat, dropping the shirt and seizing Sam by the ruff of his neck. He gave him a hard shake as he lifted him up. "That's all I have left and you just - and you don't even realize what you did, do you? Do you?" he demanded with another hard shake.  
  
There was no way to answer that, nothing he could offer but another plaintive mew, even though the sound seemed to only enrage Dean further. "That's it, dude. You're leaving. Now." He shook his head and tightened his hold on Sam as he started to try to struggle free.  
  
He couldn't leave! Dean couldn't just throw him out and abandon him here because he'd ripped a shirt that didn't even fit him anymore! But when Dean pulled the door open and  _tossed_  him onto the paved walkway outside, it became quite clear that he could, and more than that, he was. Sam yowled at the door as it swung closed, but there was no answer, not immediately or after several minutes.  
  
Dean had seriously just thrown him out. And he wasn't coming after him. But then, why would he? He didn't know who he really was, didn't know he was anything other than a cat that he hadn't wanted in the first place, so he had no real reason to even think about looking for him. With a final mournful cry, Sam turned around and walked out to the parking lot. He didn't know what he was going to do now, but he could at least spend one more night under the Impala before he had to say good-bye to it and Dean forever.  
  
It had been dark for some time before he heard footsteps walking up to the car. Sam snapped out of the light doze he'd slipped into, hoping that Dean had finally come out to get him. But instead, he heard an amused voice drawl, “So, he kicked you out again, huh, kiddo?”


	9. Chapter 9

Instantly, he lunged at the ankles he could see standing by the passenger side, but the Trickster just sidestepped the attack and reached down to pick him. "Take it easy, Sam," he advised, leaning back to avoid getting a face full of claws when Sam swung one paw out at him. "I'm here to help."  
  
Yeah, right. Like he'd ever helped them with anything. Sam glared at him, narrowing his eyes to little more than slits, and that was when he saw it - the god was glowing with a faint golden light, almost like a -  
  
"Okay, so I'm an angel," the Trickster admitted. "Archangel, if you want to get specific."  
  
 _Which one?_  
  
"Gabriel." Then, while Sam was still reeling from the knowledge that the freaking  _archangel Gabriel_  was holding him up by the scruff of the neck, he continued. "And I  _have_  helped you - I tried to show you how hard life was going to be without Dean, to get you ready for it, remember? But that's not what I'm here for. I wanted to see if this little... vacation has taught you anything."  
  
 _Besides the fact that you're an even bigger dick than I thought you were?_  
  
He laughed. "I like you, Sam. You and Dean both. You got a raw deal, but you're doing better than most people at handling it." Sam growled and swiped at him again and he shook him. "None of that, now, or you'll get to spend the next three months as a cockroach."  
  
 _They're supposed to be the ultimate survivors_ , Sam thought back at him, not willing to let him see how bad he wanted to be human again.  
  
"See, that's what I mean. You've kept your sense of humor intact." He paused for a second, then shrugged. "More or less, anyway."  
  
 _Change me back!_  
  
Gabriel clucked his tongue against his teeth. "Is that any way to ask? And here I thought I was doing you a favor, letting you see things from a different perspective."  
  
He wanted to hiss and spit at him, but that probably wasn't the best way to get what he wanted. Sam forced himself to swallow his pride.  _Please change me back. I want to be human again._  
  
"Oh, really? Even though you can hide from Lucifer better this way?" Gabriel smirked. "He's been going nuts trying to find you, by the way."  
  
 _Dean needs me._  
  
That earned a raised eyebrow. "I thought you weren't good for each other, that you'd agreed to go your separate ways."  
  
There really wasn't any argument he could make to that; nothing that he wanted to admit to an archangel, anyway. Sam just stared at him until Gabriel set him down on the hood of the Impala. "Okay, so make your case, kiddo. Tell me why you shouldn't just stay furry for the whole apocalypse til Lucifer catches up with you."  
  
 _Dean needs me._  
  
"Yeah, you said that one already. Try again."  
  
 _I can't help anybody like this._  
  
"You also can't be a liability, either. Face it, Sambo, you were dragging Dean down and taking the whole world with you."  
  
Sam was starting to get frustrated. Any point he raised could be shot down, he knew that. He tried to think, to figure out what Gabriel wanted from him, but as he looked into his eyes, the only thing he could come up with was,  _I don't care about the world. I just want Dean. He needs me to keep him from saying yes and I need him to keep me from saying yes._  
  
He expected another glib retort, but Gabriel looked thoughtful. "You might be onto something with that. But how do I know you'll be able to do that? Michael and Lucifer are pretty persuasive bastards when they wanna be."  
  
 _They can't have us. We belong to each other; we always have._  
  
"You willing to die for that, Sam?"  
  
There was no question in his mind, no hesitation at all.  _Yes._  No matter how complicated some things were, that was simple. He and Dean belonged together, and he wasn't willing to let anything come between them anymore. Not demons, not angels, not their own stubborn pride. Nothing.  
  
Gabriel nodded and Sam saw the light around him grow almost painfully bright before a loud crack echoed in his ears. He clapped his hands over them instinctively, not even realizing until the archangel had vanished that he'd been changed back. He had hands again! And eyes and feet and - oh, God - and he was sitting, stark naked, on the hood of the Impala.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's rare streak of good luck held long enough for him steal a towel from the maid's cart before anybody started screaming about a naked man in the parking lot. Wrapping the scrap of terrycloth around his waist, he hurried back to room 124 and knocked on the door.   
  
"Go away!" was the instant answer. Sam tried again, and it was only after five minutes of hammering that Dean finally yanked the door open and growled, "Look, I don't want whatever the fuck it is you're -" His brain caught up with his mouth late, as usual, leaving him staring at his mostly-naked brother on the other side of the door. "Sam?"  
  
"Hey," he said with a hesitant smile.  
  
"Sammy?"  
  
"I'd offer to come back some other time, but I'm kind of..." He glanced down, then blushed when Dean's eyes followed the direction of his gaze.  
  
"Naked," Dean muttered, his voice dipping down to a husky register that Sam had only heard him use with girls before. He wasn't sure which was more embarrassing, that his brother was talking to him in the voice he reserved for particularly hot girls, or that Sam was blushing just like the girls did when Dean's eyes slid up over his chest, lingering for what felt like an extraordinarily long time on every inch of skin.   
  
Sam shifted from one foot to the other, growing more self-conscious with every second. It was worse than being fifteen, when he'd been all arms and legs and jerky, awkward movements while Dean had been the epitome of self-confidence, never making so much as a tiny misstep. When Dean still didn't move, Sam cleared his throat. "Can I -?"  
  
The question snapped Dean out of the daze he seemed to have slipped into, and he shook his head. "Sorry. Yeah, sure, c'mon in."  
  
He stepped aside and Sam slipped into the room, breathing out a sigh of relief at the clothes that were still piled at the foot of the bed. "Great. You've got some of my clothes." Without waiting for Dean to offer, he grabbed a pair of jeans and the blue-checked shirt, then headed into the bathroom to change. He'd have to go commando and barefoot until they could hit a store to get him some new stuff, but it was better than the towel.  
  
Half an hour later, freshly showered, shaved, and changed, Sam walked out of the bathroom - and immediately got hit with a right cross. "What the hell -"  
  
"You think you can just waltz back in here whenever you want?" Dean demanded. "Couldn't be bothered to pick up the fucking phone when I was calling you, but now you can -"  
  
"I couldn't call you back," Sam tried to tell him, but Dean was too busy pacing back and forth and listing off his sins to pay attention.  
  
"- stroll in here in a fucking  _towel_  and help yourself to whatever you want, without even bothering to explain or anything?!? And how did you even know where I was, huh? Did you get anther little demon bitch to -" He stopped and turned around. "Couldn't? What do you mean, couldn't?"  
  
"I'm okay," Sam assured him before Dean could get himself wound up about anything happening to him. "I just -" What? He wasn't sure Dean would even believe him if he said he'd spent the last few months as a cat. "I lost my cell," he offered. Okay, so it was a lame explanation, even if it was technically the truth, but it would have to do until he could come up with a better one.  
  
Dean studied him with a guarded look, probably trying to decided whether or not to call him on his pretty obvious bullshit, before he turned around and grabbed the knife. Sam tensed at the sight of the blade, wondering if Dean was about to bury it in his stomach, but he flipped it around and held it out to him. "Here. You'll probably need this, then."  
  
"Thanks, man." He took it and stared down at the runes etched on the blade. "So, uh, what've you been up to, anyway?"  
  
He shrugged. "Nothing much. Trying to keep the world from ending. You?"  
  
Sam smiled. "Pretty much the same." He thought about pointing out that he needed to run to the store when his stomach rumbled, and Dean laughed.  
  
"Bet you're starving." Sam nodded and Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's go get some food. You can tell me the rest of it over burgers and a few beers."  
  
Without really thinking about it, Sam followed Dean out to the car and slid into the passenger seat, sinking into the leather as naturally as he always had. He noticed Dean glancing around for a second before he got in, but when he didn't say anything about the cat that should've been out there, Sam didn't bring it up. Instead, he laughed when Dean started the car up and James Hetfield's voice came blaring out of the speakers. "You probably won't believe it, but I've missed your music," he commented.  
  
Dean stared at him. "You're right; I don't believe it." He reached out and squeezed the back of Sam's neck. "Good to have you back, Sammy." Then, before Sam could say anything in return, he turned the radio up, put the car in gear, and they were on their way.  
  
They spent the next several hours stuffing themselves with burgers, fries, and beer, hustling enough pool to give them each a nice little wad of money, and generally finding their footing with each other again. And if Sam noticed Dean looking at him a little longer than usual or leaning into him a little more frequently, he chalked it up to the time apart, nothing more. He definitely wasn't thinking about Dean's drunken confession, wasn't wondering if he still felt that way as he watched his brother's throat work as he swallowed his beer or stared at his mouth while he talked. And he absolutely, positively had  _not_  been staring at Dean's ass when he'd taken his turn at the pool table.  
  
Even thought he had to admit, if only to himself, that Dean had one of the most perfect asses he'd ever seen.  
  
It wasn't until they pulled back up to the motel and Dean got out, then started looking around the parking lot, that Sam started to realize that his return to humanity had come with a cost for Dean. "Where the hell did he go?" Dean muttered, glaring into the darkness.  
  
"Where'd who go?" Sam asked, swallowing hard against a sickening lurch of his stomach.  
  
His brother shook his head. "Nobody. Just this cat. He's sorta been... riding along with me."  
  
"I thought you hated cats," he couldn't resist pointing out, even though he knew firsthand how untrue that statement was.  
  
Dean shrugged. "I dunno. This one's kinda cool - y'know, for a cat." He looked around again and shrugged. "He's probably off wandering around; he'll come scratch at the door later."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure he will." Sam wondered if Dean might prefer the cat that had curled up in his lap to the brother that he had to watch like a hawk. Unfortunately for Dean, he was stuck with the latter, while the former had never really existed at all. The cat he'd taken in, the pet he'd shared his life with, had been as much of a fiction as Sam's dreams of a normal, peaceful life.  
  
It wasn't right, the way Dean was having to pay for Sam's sins yet again. It was Sam who'd drawn Gabriel's fire, Sam who'd fallen prey to demons and temptation, but like always, it was Dean who lost something he cared about because of it. Dean would never know what had happened to his cat, would probably assume it had run away or gotten killed, and while he'd likely never mention it again, Sam knew he'd always wonder. It wasn't fair, and even though things had never been fair for the Winchesters, they deserved some small breaks now and then, didn't they? They fought to keep everyone else safe and happy, so why was it that whenever they found some small bit of peace, it was wrenched away in the most painful way?   
  
It was just one more injustice in a life filled with them, a small one to be sure, but for some reason it stung like no other, and as Sam followed his brother back into the hotel room, he promised himself that he'd find some way to make it up to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Two weeks later, Sam wondered why he'd ever thought being nice to Dean was a good idea. He'd tried going for coffee and doughnuts, hustled pool along with Dean whenever he felt like going out, and pretty much did his best to be reasonable and agreeable. Sam let his brother have the first shower; he volunteered to dig graves and do research when he knew Dr Sexy was coming on; he didn't argue about stopping at greasy spoons or bars for bacon cheeseburgers instead of salads or sandwiches; he didn't say anything when Dean put Zeppelin IV on and cranked the volume for three straight hours while they barreled across Nebraska. He did all these things and more, but it wasn't helping.  
  
Or maybe he should say, it wasn't helping him. Dean seemed to be doing just fine, even if he did still sometimes order extra food and leave the container outside overnight. The food was always gone in the morning, and while Sam knew Dean was aware that there was no way 'his' cat was eating it, he figured that whatever comfort Dean might get from feeding a few extra strays was well-deserved. And okay, so sometimes Sam made sure to get a hamburger or two when they were flush and leave it out as well. He'd been hungry and cold, and he knew how badly life could suck for an ownerless pet.   
  
But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Sam couldn't seem to get his brother's voice out of his head, couldn't stop replaying his words:  _Righteous men don't want to fuck their brothers. And they sure as hell don't fall in love with them._  Every so often they'd hit him right out of the blue - he'd be sitting in a diner listening to Dean bitch about his overcooked bacon, and then the next second, he'd be back in that motel room, hearing Dean talk about wanting to fuck him and falling in love with him, and then he'd snap back to reality to find Dean staring at him while Sam wondered if he still thought about fucking him, if he was still in love with him or if Sam had destroyed that when he'd walked out the door and gone to let Lucifer out.   
  
As the weeks slid by, it grew into a strange kind of obsession, slowly taking over his life until it seemed like Sam was constantly watching Dean and cataloging his actions, examining them over and over again to see if Dean still wanted him, if he still loved him. If Dean was still in love with him, if he could even  _think_  about being in love with him after all that, then Sam would know that he wasn't beyond redemption, after all. Without really being aware of it, Sam started watching Dean for little clues, keeping track of how long he lingered when he knocked his shoulder against Sam's or how many times their fingers brushed when they were handing each other various things.   
  
And somehow, it moved from observation to action, and Sam found himself making a sort of game of it, seeing how many times during the day he could get Dean to touch him - he started walking across the room to get things or hand them over instead of just throwing them, fumbled keys and room cards and pool cues so he'd drop them and have to bend over to pick them up. It was fucked up, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop, too addicted to the occasional flashes of heat he managed to catch in Dean's eyes to stop.  
  
Like last week: Sam had dropped the car keys twice in one morning, used the excuse of a small booth and his long legs to explain why his ankles were pressed up against Dean's, and played restlessly with his silverware until Dean put a hand over his and barked at him to sit still. There had been something in his eyes, something that Sam might've called smoldering if calling that wouldn't have made him feel like some stupid simpering romance heroine. But whatever it was, Sam wanted to see more of it.  
  
A lot more.  
  
Unfortunately, Dean seemed determined to keep it hidden. Except for the faintest flashes of something more, brief enough that Sam wondered sometimes if he wasn't just seeing what he wanted to see, Dean could've been any ordinary guy wandering around the country with his brother. He'd gotten too good at hiding, and there was no way to strip his defenses away - at least not while he was sober.   
  
Sam knew a lot of people might call it cheating, but he knew how chatty his brother could get when he was drunk, and one of his first lessons as a hunter had been that monsters didn't play fair, so neither did they. Okay, so Dean wasn't a monster, but Sam figured that he still needed every little advantage he could get when he was trying to get to the bottom of this whole thing. He ignored the faint whisper of his conscience that said that he should just  _ask_  Dean if he wanted him and dragged his brother out to the nearest bar instead.  
  
There was a two-for-one special on shots, so Sam ordered them both a Cocksucking Cowboy and a Screaming Orgasm, with a beer chaser, then told the waitress to bring another round when they were done. Dean gave him a hard time over the drinks, but shut up soon enough when he found out how good they were. One thing Stanford had done was expand Sam's alcoholic horizons, and while he'd never really gotten all that comfortable with the drink names, he had to admit that anything that tasted like butterscotch, cinnamon or rich cream was just too good to ignore. So he sucked it up and dealt with the way his ears burned when he told the waitress to add a Hot Jizz to their next round, then dared Dean to drink them both.  
  
He'd planned to give most of the shots to Dean, but somehow he ended up matching him almost drink for drink, so things turned out a little differently than he'd planned. Instead of Dean blabbing his innermost feelings, Sam ended up hanging on Dean as his brother steered him back to the room. He thought he remembered telling Dean that he liked it that Dean was strong enough to hold him up, had a fuzzy recollection of hugging him several times while he talked about how awesome thumbs were, and really, really hoped that he'd just dreamt the part where he asked to lick Dean's freckles to see if they tasted like chocolate.  
  
In any instance, Sam was pretty sure that getting drunk had failed miserably as a plan.  
  
He tried a few more things, everything from flirting with other girls (and two guys) right in front of Dean to tearing his clothes in strategic places and even 'accidentally' forgot his towel a few times when he came out of the shower, but nothing seemed to provoke more than a raised eyebrow. Sam was starting to think he'd missed the window for seduction, and how insane was it that he had to even think about that when it came to Dean? But it seemed like Dean took everything he did in stride. When he didn't say anything after Sam jerked off, loudly and obviously, in the bathroom with the door half-open, Sam decided to give up.  
  
There was still one thing he needed to do, though. He waited until Dean was out in the parking lot changing the Impala's oil before he slipped out, claiming he was going to get coffee and check newspapers for a case. As always, Dean under the car meant Dean in his own world, so he answered with a grunt that Sam interpreted as agreement. With a good hour and a half to himself, Sam set out on his errand.  
  
He had to go to two different shelters before he found what he was looking for. She was perfect: tiny, soft, and sweet, with rich butterscotch-colored fur and golden eyes. Best of all, she walked right up to him and wound around his legs instead of skittering away from him. The adoption fee was more than he'd expected, but $125 later, Sam walked out of the shelter with a cat, a certificate for shots and spaying, a travel carrier, food and water dishes, and a thin red leather collar with a shiny golden tag on it. He'd left the name blank, but put both his and Dean's cell numbers on it, along with Bobby's address.  
  
Dean wasn't under the car anymore when Sam got back to the motel. "Looks like he's already inside," he told the kitten, pausing to scoop her out of the carrier before he pushed the door open and called out, "Dean!"  
  
"Yeah, what?" came the answer from over by the window, where Dean had his gun broken down for cleaning.  
  
Instead of answering, Sam put the cat down on the table in front of him. Dean stared at it for a long time before he reached out to stroke one finger over the small downy head. "I know she can't take your cat's place, but I thought we could give her a good home," Sam told him. "The people at the shelter said she's about six months old, and already litter box trained."  
  
"Yeah?" Dean looked up at him. "So what's her name?"  
  
"I figured you could name her."  
  
He studied her for a second, chuckling as she curled up and started washing her face, completely unconcerned about the gun pieces all around her. "Dudette," he finally said, and when Sam gave him a surprised look, he shrugged. "She kinda looks like him."  
  
Sam blinked at him, then looked at the cat, wondering if she really did look like him as a cat. He was about to ask when Dean pushed his chair back and stood up. "Thanks, Sammy," he said softly, reaching out to wrap a hand around his neck. The careful squeeze was completely expected, but the tug forward that brought his mouth crashing down onto Dean's wasn't.  
  
For a long, long time, Sam was too stunned to do more than stand there while Dean kissed him, but when Dean started to back off, some tiny part of his brain sparked to life and he wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him close while he opened his mouth for him. Dean groaned and deepened the kiss, hands dipping down to cup Sam's ass and steer him back towards the bed.  
  
From there, things dissolved into a warm haze of skin and mouths and hands as clothes vanished and the world narrowed to the two of them. Sam hadn't necessarily given it a lot of thought, but somewhere deep inside he'd been expecting sex with Dean to be all about the need, hot and heavy and sweaty, powered by a driving need for  _more_ , but this was... different. This was slow, soft kisses and careful caresses, the long press of his brother's body only faintly registering beyond the mumbled litany of "SammySammyGodsofuckinggorgeousSammy" in Dean's rough voice. Time had slowed down to a syrupy crawl and Sam lost himself in the slow build to climax right up until the sharp sting of claws sinking into his ass yanked him out of it.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Yeah, you like that, huh?" Dean said with a grin.  
  
"No - I mean, yeah, but - Jesus, Dean!" Sam moaned, caught between the need to beg his brother not to stop and the desire to send the small furry monster that was trying to climb his back flying across the room. "The cat," he managed to get out, right before Dean let out a yelp that told him he'd probably realized they weren't alone in the bed.  
  
Immediately, Dean scooted out from under him and grabbed the cat off his back; unfortunately, a claw snagged on skin and Sam groaned again while Dean cuddled the kitten against his chest. "Sorry, Sammy. I'll just - I'm gonna put her in the bathroom, okay?"  
  
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to put her outside and hope a Doberman made a snack of her, but Sam managed to nod and grunt, "Yeah." He rolled onto his back, hissing when scratches made contact with the sheet, but he wasn't about to miss watching a naked Dean walk across the room. "New rule," he told him as he crawled back onto the bed. "The cat gets put away before we do anything from now on."  
  
"Aw, did the big bad kitty cat hurt you?" Dean teased, reaching out to stroke him with a grin. "Whaddaya say I kiss it and make it all better, Sammy?"  
  
The cat hadn't scratched him  _there_ , but Sam was smart enough not to say so. Instead, he leaned his head back and moaned, "Sounds like a good idea," and let Dean work on making it up to him.  
  
His brother had always been good at making him forget minor injuries, and this was no exception. As he surrendered to Dean's not all that surprisingly talented tongue, Sam decided that it was well worth the scratches to get this kind of attention. Especially since Dean didn't seem to want to stop. Like, ever.   
  
Some time later - a long, long time later, to be exact, Sam collapsed down onto his brother, breathing like he'd just run a marathon. It took a while for him to put himself back together - understandable, he thought, since he had to do it pretty much from the atoms up. Two orgasms in under an hour tended to do that to a guy. "Wow," he finally managed to say.  
  
"That's it? Just wow?" Dean teased.  
  
Sam shook his head, then nodded. "I think you broke me."  
  
Dean laughed and shook his head, then pulled Sam down for a kiss. "Dork," he murmured against his lips, but Sam didn't care. If this was what dorkitude got him, then he'd gladly embrace it and go the whole nine yards. Eventually Dean broke the kiss off. "Gotta move, Sammy. Need to check on Dudette."  
  
He grumbled, but rolled over onto his side and pulled the sheet up over him. Propping his head on one hand, he watched Dean slide out of bed and walk over to the bathroom. As soon as the door was open, Dudette sauntered out, giving Dean a disgruntled look as she walked past him to hop up onto the bed.   
  
Sam reached out to run one finger just under her chin, smiling when she leaned into it and purred. He remembered just how good that felt. "You really think she looks like me? I mean, I was a lot bigger and -"  
  
He realized too late just what he'd said when a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and Sam looked up to see green eyes glittering down at him. "Just what is that supposed to mean?" his brother growled in a low voice, and it didn't take a genius to realize that he was so very screwed.  
  
Swallowing hard, Sam licked his lips and started with, "Well, it's like this: after we split up, I got in that guy's truck..."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, it takes a village to make these stories. Thanks to deomidaemonfor the beta. It takes guts to tell a writer when they're sucking hardcore, and I appreciate the lack of pulled punches with this one. Additional thanks for support and encouragement go to bellagattino, lordarfindalefor the kitty-help, and Liam for just being himself.
> 
> A very, very special thanks to locknkey, who stepped in and produced some truly incredible art for me at the last minute. Thank you so much for your hard work, sweetie!


End file.
